Between Heartbeats
by Eleture
Summary: Blangst. Blaine's point of view during shooting star and a tag scene.


_Summary: _Overload of Blangst from shooting star. Blaine's POV and tag scene.

**Warnings: Spoilers: Shooting Star; Mentions of shooting in a school; vague or implied references to PTSD, panic attacks. Intentional over-use of sentence fragments. **

So, if you've worked out who I was before I was Eleture, you might recognise bits and pieces of this work from my other stuff. It's also a style of writing I like to play with when I have writer's block because it's the only thing that works so it's **_radically _**different to anything I've written for Glee thus far.

**Between Heartbeats**

The first gun-shot reverberates around him. More like a bomb-blast than a gun. It moves the Earth, but not him. He remains still for a moment, frozen in time.

Then another shot sounds and functional chaos erupts. It's almost like a rehearsed dance, a battlefield of soldiers scattering from the grenade.

Silence descends, but never takes hold.

There's still a staccato beating.

The sound of a flag tapping against a weary steel pole in the wind.

The echoing of panicked footsteps on the cold floor.

The trembling of fingers on the keys of smart phones.

It's not the sound that haunts him.

It's the silence.

The straining to hear as shadows move and emptiness fill his lungs.

Every breath out is a desperate need to rid himself of the cold within.

He can't find the capacity to speak. Words form in his mind and wither there like flowers out of water. Melt away into the fear, slide through his fingertips.

There are so many things he wants to say.

_I love you, Kurt. I'm sorry. _

That thought chokes him, as it buries him under all the mistakes his made. Buried alive and can't dig himself out.

Only the sound of his muffled breathing to keep him company as reality closes in.

It's not the sound that haunts him.

It's the silence.

It's all the things he'll never have the chance to say.

_I'm sorry Mom, for not saying goodbye this morning. I was running late. _

He buries his head in his knees and tries not the think of the awful words he and his father shout over breakfast.

_No son of mine!_

_I hate you!_

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words I always remember.

Feelings overwhelm him and mind stalls to a stop.

All those things float away as he hears the goodbyes of the closest friends he has. All the words he wishes he could say.

There are too many things to say, and how could they ever be enough?

It's not their whispering voices that haunt him.

It's the silence.

It's all the strength he has ebbing and flowing like the tides.

It's the drowning in the unknown.

When the room is clear he slides like a ghost through the crowds.

Around him are tears, screams, and people reaching out.

It's love.

His eyes dart from one person to the next and he dreams that one day, he'll have that.

Instead he draws away. He wonders, walks.

He keeps walking like he'll make it to that destination, like it's a place he can get back to just by moving. Keep going. The sunlight falls around him but he can still see the cracks in the pavement. Tiny little fault lines. Breaks in the perfection. A thousand gossamer strands, put them all together and watch them fall apart.

_Apart_.

A part.

His part.

His role.

His chance is over. Scene changes. Curtain falls.

This drama is over.

Not for him though. Never for him. It's a book he'll never read again because he remembers the pain, but it's one he'll keep, carry. Caress the cover like the happiness is still here and the ending will never come.

He reaches the house and stands. Home is where the heart is.

Home is what the heart is. Is that where the phrase broken homes comes from?

Fingers press against the door and daylight stretches into the hallway, grasping at the elusive darkness but it can't reach the depths of his home. Darkness lingers. Awaits him. The calm before the storm. Clouds are churning. Tears fall like rain.

Footsteps echo against the walls. He moves from room to room. Drifts, a ship without an anchor is tossed on stormy seas. There's nothing but air here, vast, reaching. He suffocates anyway. Keep breathing.

Breathing.

Breathing space.

Space.

Distance.

He's familiar with it. Family is a thousand miles away. His friends are just across town, but they're even further.

Tears rain down his cheeks; leave little tracks on his skin. Scars of pain he can't bleed away. Can't stand here and wait. It's just another day.

Day.

Day time.

Night time.

Time.

In time maybe he'll be forgiven. Maybe he'll forget. Forget.

_Forgotten. _

No.

Not forgotten.

Left behind. It's different. Everything is different now.

Door slams open. Reverberates like a drum.

Drum beat.

Heart beat.

Heart beats, plays the broken melody.

It's not the heartbeats that haunt him.

It's the moments of silence.

Between heartbeats.

Between heartbeats there is nothing and everything.

There is silence and fear and waiting.

There is the knowledge that of all his friends, of all the people waiting in the streets, not one of them was there for him.

He envies them. Envies their families. Envies all that they have and hates them.

He loves them.

He wants to open his hands and catch all the pain before it hits them. Wants to take it for himself and save them the loneliness of the numb walk home.

That's just the problem though isn't it? Selfish. He's always being selfish.

There's no quota for pain in the world. Can't have all of it no matter how hard he tries. Martyr for the lost causes.

He drowns every step of the way. Moves like a man under water. Fingers numb. Can't grasp anything properly. He drifts.

And then she bursts into the room, her eyes red and her hands grasping.

He knows instantly that she's driven back from Columbus, abandoned that work trip at the airport and come back to him.

Sun breaks through the clouds. Tempest dies in its fury. Warm breeze thaws his skins.

Home feels a little less broken now. Not all put together again, but _together. _

Her voice speaks his name and he crumbles, reaching. She plows into him, holds him.

Mother's embrace envelopes him, tucks him away from the pain.

She's weeping, crying, clutching at him. Can't let him go again.

He pulls her to him and buries himself in her warm embrace.

It's not her continued reassurances that haunt him.

It's the moments of silence.

Silence where there's nothing to distract him from the noises outside.

Silence is when he's not sure if this is the last thing he'll do or have.

His heart beats are full of love.

It's the moments in between that haunt him.

Between heartbeats.

- FIN -

Please review? :)


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